Glimpses 4
by SandraS
Summary: A collection of short - sometimes very short - episode-tags for Season 4
1. Wanted

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Wanted

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Ellen stood staring blankly into space, worrying about Neal, when the doorbell rang a third time. Exhaling exasperated she stalked back to the entrance. If this was either Collins or Burke again she would give them a more direct piece of her mind... But is was a curvy, good-looking brunette with enough resemblance to Neal's girl, Kate, to give her pause. And in that moment of hesitation the brunette started speaking briskly.

"Listen, my husband is the best thing that ever happened to Neal. And yes, that includes putting him into prison. But it also includes giving him a chance. A chance to change. A chance to prove he can be more than just a criminal. To prove the good heart I know he has. Now that Agent Collins? If Peter says he's dangerous then he is and if he is afraid of what will happen if Collins finds Neal first then he has good reasons. I know you don't know us and I suppose being in WITSEC teaches you caution as a necessity but if you care about Neal at least as much as Peter and I do you will help my husband find him so he can warn him. This is our address. For Neal's sake I really hope you will do the right thing."

Nodding shortly the brunette turned and marched down the stairs, her back ramrod straight and proud, leaving Ellen standing there with her mouth open and holding the slip of paper with an address in Brooklyn in her hand.


	2. Most Wanted

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Most Wanted

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In the port city of Santa Maria on the northernmost coast of Cape Verde there is a cafe that used to be called El Café Isleno.

It is a well known place, well kept, with good drinks and good food and friendly service. The natives go there because there are tables inside where one finds peace and silence to enjoy the long, hot afternoons. The tourists go there because there are tables outside where one can watch the colorful crowds during the long, warm summer evenings. The proprietor is well liked and respected by the people of the town (not least because she is still very beautiful for her age and very rich for someone from the island) and her main bartender – Hector – has an elaborate story or sound advice for anyone to come and spend time sitting at the polished wood of the bar.

But what the cafe is famous for is none of all the above. It is the pictures. For all round the walls, blending surprisingly well with the otherwise tropic decoration there are hanging pictures. Oil on canvas mostly but also some sketches in charcoal as well as some done in ink, all in different techniques or styles. Pictures of buildings in bold colors or black and white. Of bridges and tram cars and streets and parks and people.

The pictures are what the tourists come to see and what the locals discuss when a new one is hung up every now and again. The pictures are what have given the cafe its new name.

The New York.


	3. Diminishing Returns

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Diminishing Returns

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Agent Patterson knew it was kind of strange to put on a suit every day to go work in a drafty warehouse.

And he was well aware that there were usually two types of agents surprise-transferred to his domain (since his official requests for more staff normally went ignored). Category one: The ones who had done something to annoy their superiors enough to warrant a slap on the wrist without damaging their careers too much. And category two: The ones who had done something so outrageously stupid that their superiors wanted them gone though preferably as quietly as possible.

He was also well aware that he was expected to give agents of category one a hard time, so it would serve as appropriate punishment (which he had no problem with), and make life for those of category two a living hell, so they would get the hint and put in their resignation (which he had even less of a problem with).

Long experience had taught him the fine signals separating the two categories and so it was easy to tell Agent Burke belonged to the first type – never mind Patterson always made it his business to research his "new hands". Burke's official closure rate and general renown on the grapevine was impressive bordering on brilliant. But screwed up he had and so Patterson leaned and loomed and generally made a nuisance of procedures and paperwork. Long experience had also taught him the most effective buttons to push for quick-witted, independent agents like Burke.

Still, it was kind of a hassle and a waste of his time and he would resent the whole thing more if it didn't also keep his regular staff entertained. The betting pool ranged from what the agent of the day had done over which form they would mess up how (in ridiculous detail) to guessing when they would have a meltdown under Patterson's thump. Patterson studiously pretended he didn't know about the one predicting when _he_ would have a meltdown because of one of them. His staff deserved some fun after all.

Keeping The Cave in good condition was hard work, time-consuming and demanding. True enough, a lot they did was dumb paper-pushing – categorizing, cataloging, recording – or simple manual labor like storing and stacking and more such logistics especially with evidence of white collar cases which tended to be rather … comprehensive. It was also true that a large part of what ended up in their shelves was not touched again for years. Yet there was also the list Patterson kept pinned to the wall in the little office by the entrance. It was a simple list of maybe a handful of case numbers that could really be anything and actually meant nothing to visitors and those hapless temporarily assigned agents. And Patterson and his staff, they seldom felt compelled to explain to the uninitiated.

But that list – it was their secret badge of honor. Stating the numbers of those cases that had been solved because of evidence stored in The Cave, years or even decades after the crime had been committed. The little girl that had gone missing on her way to school, all leads dead ends until some case agent made the connection between her disappearance and an investment fraud happening around the same time. The robbery of a gallery a man was sent to prison for until several years later comparing the evidence with a new incident proved his innocence. Small victories, sometimes. Sometimes bitter ones. But victories nonetheless.

So yes, it was definitely a little strange to put on a suit every morning to go work in a drafty warehouse called derisively The Cave by those who did not understand. To Patterson and his hardcore staff? Totally worth it.


	4. Parting Shots

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Parting Shots

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_"I can't con a widow."_ Neal Caffrey, White Collar 4.04 - Parting Shots

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If asked Neal would probably come up with half a dozen good and convincing reasons why he was so unwilling to con a widow.

That it was too cliche to expect it of him – for example – or that even con men had some standards. That it was too easy, providing no challenge. That it was seldom worth the effort. That it lacked finesse. And he would believe any of them.

The truth, of course, was much simpler and rooted much deeper than he ever realized.

His mother might not have been a good mother. She might have been unpunctual and a mess and not really there for him but she was still his mother, and the child Danny had loved her as dearly and unconditionally as only children do. He also grew up believing she was a widow.

And to the little child still living deep inside the grown man this made any widow sacred.


	5. Honor Among Thieves

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Honor Among Thieves

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The sad thing was: Christie couldn't even say she was surprised.

In a way it would have been … easier. If it had been a surprise. Still painful. Still … terrible. But… She just wished there hadn't been … something. Those past months. So she could tell herself she had not been trying so desperately to make it work. To have clung so awfully to something she still wasn't able to save in the end. And yes, damn it, she had done all those things like a blind schoolgirl for heaven's sake! She felt so stupid. Remembering Diana's stunned hesitation before accepting her proposal; the flash of something on her face she should have been able to read. Her reluctance to make time for ring shopping. The lateness to return her calls, the silences that felt no longer comfortable and the tiny pauses before answering her smiles. It had all been there, not only in retrospect, no, but she had _noticed_ – and willfully ignored the signs. And she hated – _hated_ – that even now she was wondering more if it had been her fault somehow rather than simply Diana getting cold feet. That she still loved her too much to be angry with her rather than be angry with herself. God, she had turned into one of those … melodramatic, brainless chicks on television who had neither the self-esteem nor self-respect to give up what was already over. She couldn't believe it. She just.

She just really wished it had been a surprise.


	6. Identity Crisis

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Identity Crisis

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It was the nightmare of any officer of the law. To believe you have the situation under control and then there's this momentary distraction, this flicker of movement out of the corner of your eye and everything goes to hell. Jones took a big gulp of his beer and then rested the glass against his forehead, finally able to really think about what had happened in the solitude of his apartment.

Because what had happened was that Mozzie had endangered him – and Neal – recklessly and on purpose for his own goals.

Stringer had already murdered one man in cold blood, had just admitted it in no uncertain terms and if he had not hesitated after all, if he had just pulled the trigger the moment he got his gun out… Jones took a shuddering breath, briefly overwhelmed by _how close_ it had been today.

Of course he had still done everything to help find Mozzie and make sure he was safe. Despite everything he even found the little guy still weirdly amusing. But one thing was for sure: He wouldn't trust him again for a very long time.

If ever.


	7. Compromising Positions

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Compromising Positions

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Jones raised the pot when Diana walked over to the coffee machine and she held out her cup with a nod.

"So," he said while pouring, "Four years ago, huh?"

"All right, all right," Diana grimaced as she took a sip, watching him top off his own mug. "I'll admit it and no more teasing from me. Shepard's good."

"Very good."

"Even that."

There was a moment of silence as Jones replaced the pot.

"But Peter is better."

"That he is."

They shared a quick smile.


	8. Ancient History

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Ancient History

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"You have any idea what that round stone thing is, John?" Driving through Brooklyn Eric threw his boss, John Meyer from Meyer Moving Service, a glance.

"Not the slightest, just that it's one heavy bugger and therefore justifies charging double. By now even triple," John replied distractedly, looking between his notes of their delivery address to the house numbers along the street.

To be precise their delivery address which he had gotten after confirming pickup by dialing one phone number and then following the recorded (!) instructions to call a second number from a public phone (! !) to there receive one part of the address and a third (! ! !) number that finally gave them the rest of the address. And no one ever dare ask what he had to do to finally arrive at the place for the pickup, thank you very much!

"Slow down, we are almost... Yes, there, stop right here!"

Parking in second row they got out and Eric started opening the back while John went up the steps to the entrance and rang the bell. After waiting some time he rang again. Just as he started frowning his phone rang. Sighing he dug it out.

"Hi, John Meyer, Meyer Moving Service, what can we do for you?"

But instead of an answer the door in front of him opened and a little, balding man with enormous glasses peered up his considerable bulk. Holding a phone. And saying:

"Oh, good, just wanted to be sure it was you."

John blinked once, blinked twice, looked over his shoulder at their truck on the side of which was written in huge yellow letters _Meyer Moving Service_.

"Really."

"You can never be careful enough these days," the little guy answered seriously and obviously impervious to the heavy sarcasm evident in that one word. "Now if we can please get a move on, we are already late as it is and everything needs to be set up before Mrs Suit returns. Oh, and I must insist that you place carpet along the entire way through the house. Better add some padding to the corners? You know, if you happen to scratch any paint on one of the doors I will have to take that off your pay, no hard feelings. And please tell me you padded the crate for the Rai stone exactly as I have left instructions to do. I can not stress enough how important that is..."

John clamped down hard on any response that came to mind (or he would have clamped down on the guy with the glasses – hard) and went back down the stairs. Charging triple would not even _cut_ it!


	9. Gloves Off

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Gloves Off

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Looking back – months, even years later – El thinks that it was then, sitting in her car in front of Neal's apartment, that it happened for the first time.

That Neal stopped being this nice young man who had made some bad choices but ultimately had a good heart; this charming, enigmatic con man with a tragic past who she had invited into their home and their lives trusting that – when it counted – he would do the right thing. When she for the first time perceived him not as a friend but as a threat to her happiness, her marriage, even her husband's very well-being.

She would forget it again. Shove away what she didn't want to see, didn't want to confront. But deep down it always stayed with her, those first involuntary, unbidden thoughts when she saw "Sam" leave.

_After everything Peter has done, after he has lied for him, has risked his life and career for him, and still he goes behind his back, still keeps secrets, still always has his own agenda... _


	10. Vested Interest

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Vested Interest

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"Oh, boy," sighed Price as he and Donaldson finally schlepped back in the office after a five-hour trek through Chinatown that had started at six in the morning, "I so need some coffee."

The two agents stopped and eyeballed the corner with the coffee machine with some dread.

"Should have swung by Starbucks," Donaldson muttered finally.

"Yeah, we should have," Price agreed and then grimaced. "Well, too late for that now."

Squaring his shoulders he walked over before his resolve could waver, grabbed two mugs and quickly poured the dark liquid from the pot. Donaldson added milk to his one while Price stirred in sugar, fortified himself with a deep breath – he really, really needed the caffeine, darn it – and took a sip...

Heaven. He was in heaven.

"Oh. My. God."

Donaldson's reverent mutter beside him got Price slowly aware that he was standing with his eyes closed and the mug still hovering at his lips. A not very ladylike snigger finally broke through their stunned silence.

"Good, eh?" Van Douglas was leaning against the corner. Her two colleges gave her similar dazed looks.

"What happened?" Donaldson asked almost in a whisper, as if speaking louder might break the spell and they'd have their old, chalk-tasting mud back. Van Douglas grinned happily.

"Burke fixed the coffee machine."

"Wait." Price blinked. "Burke, as in Peter – I hate making coffee and rather wait until someone does it for me – Burke?"

"The one and only."

"_How?" "But why?_"

"Wild guess? He was trying to thaw out Neal who – as you may have noticed – seems to be a bit miffed at the moment. And we all know how much our resident con man loves a good cup of coffee."

"Did it work?"

"Not last time I looked."

"Well," Price took another sip of his miracle coffee, "If this is the result I don't mind if those two have a lover's spat every now and again."

A sentiment that was shared by approximately ninety percent of the staff judging by the sheer amount of dreamy smiles directed into various cups of coffee all around the office...


	11. Family Business

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Family Business

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The first time Elisabeth got treated with the famous Burke hangover cure pickle juice it was the morning after a Greek friend's wedding. In all honesty, she didn't even have that much to drink but the ouzo served in the tiny, family-owned restaurant was much more potent that she had thought. Also in all honesty, she almost dumped the thing right into her husband's smiling face but then decided it could hardly make things worse; considering how bad she was already feeling. It was hard to tell if it was the effect of the pickle juice or the damp washcloths Peter kept also bringing or a combination of both but by midday the hangover was as good as gone.

The first time Diana heard of the famous Burke hangover cure pickle juice, she was still Peter's probie. She had had a really awful week, involving among other things having a garbage bag flung at her with disastrous results as well as a computer breakdown with a seven page report not saved and to top it off a hot coffee spill over her hand. Mentioning needing a stiff drink or five Friday afternoon Peter recommended his family remedy if those five drinks happened to bring friends. She actually thought he was pulling her leg, nevertheless spontaneously purchased some on her weekend shopping. Nice company let to a merry evening and while she didn't need the juice for herself it was really handy to offer her ailing date the next morning. Apparently it worked too.

The first time Jones got recommended the famous Burke hangover cure pickle juice he was about to set out for a high school reunion he really didn't want to go on but had been talked into by an old buddy. He found the thought as hilarious as disgusting and didn't buy any. Since the evening was as awful as expected and only to be born with the help of large quantities of alcohol he really wished he had done so the next morning.

The first time Neal was introduced to the famous Burke hangover cure pickle juice he had had every intention of pouring it away as soon as Peter was out of sight. Then another car honked and the light was so awfully bright and in the end he thought what the heck and indeed drank almost the entire bottle (though to be honest, that happened mostly because he was too distracted by his headache to care). To his immense surprise the hangover was practically gone by afternoon.

The first time Mozzie got handed the famous Burke hangover cure pickle juice it was by Neal, after he had endeavored his Tequila counterfeiting experiment. He might not have been amused by the younger man's smirk but he drank the juice. Anything that didn't taste like lemons.


	12. Brass Tacks

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Brass Tacks

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"… or better violets?" Carmen frowned at her friend as they walked quickly in the direction of the school. "Forget-me-nots? No, really, what do you –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Josie interrupted her sharply, grabbing her arm, "Look, they'll run the light!"

Carmen followed the direction of her pointing finger just in time to see a dark Taurus breezing past the red traffic light and out into the intersection without even slowing. She had barely gasped before a horn blared and tires squealed, ending in an almighty crash of breaking glass and metal.

"Whoa!" "No!"

They started running towards the standing vehicles. Steam rose above the front of the white one. The impact had turned the Taurus a clear ninety degree, bringing the cars side by side. In wordless understanding Josie hurried to the free passenger door of the Taurus while Carmen circled its heck. She had to swallow bitter anger on seeing that the second car was a Access-A-Ride. Of all the stupid things...!

Jerking the back door open she was relieved to find that there was at least no disabled passenger inside. Turning to the front she grabbed for the driver as he stumbled onto the street, wobbling alarmingly. For a second she thought they might both go down but managed to tip him back against the car.

"It – it was green!" The man stared blearily at her. He was shaking, angry red blotches all over his face where he had hit the airbag. "It was green!"

"I know, I know, we saw it all, it was the other one who ran the light," Carmen said as soothingly as possible. She cast a nervous glance at the steam over the hood. So far she did not see any flames but then she had no idea how real a danger that might be. She tried to get the man to come with her so she could sit him down at the curb but he refused to cooperate, only staggered a bit back and forth, still repeating that it had "been green."

Feeling helpless Carmen peered over the Access-A-Ride car to where Josie had bravely slipped in the passenger seat of the Taurus and was touching its driver while speaking into her phone. Seeing that Carmen wondered if she was supposed to call 911 about the man beside her too. Before she could come to a decision pounding footsteps alerted her to the arrival of more people.

"Is anybody injured? I called the cops..." The first man to reach her gasped.

"Yes...? I don't know, he does not seem completely lucid." Carmen tried again to get the driver away from his damaged car and again he jerked his arm out of her hands. In the distance the first siren could be heard.

"Okay – now – sir, why don't we go and sit down over there? Sir?" The man who had first reached her turned to a pair of younger men hovering nervously nearby. "You two, come help me."

Between the three of them they got the Access-A-Ride driver to the side of the street and sitting down though he was still mumbling in numb despair that it "had been green, hadn't it?" Silent tears were running down his blotchy face.

"Uh. He – he's got a gun."

Josie's quiet voice shook audibly as she suddenly backed out of the Taurus.

"What?" several people including Carmen asked.

Josie gestured vaguely, her face very white.

"He's got a gun. Under his jacket."

Everybody near stared at the driver of the Taurus who was rolling his head from one side to the other before going still again. It was hard to see through the glass of the damaged door but Carmen thought there was blood on the side of his face and staining the white of his shirt.

Thankfully just then an ambulance came racing around the corner and slowed to a stop in front of the crash site. Two EMTs jumped out right as a police car pulled up behind them.

"The man in that car has a concealed gun," someone said pointing.

This froze the EMTs in their tracks. They glanced at the police officer. She waved them briskly back.

"See to the other driver first, please. Now everybody, please step back for a moment. Thank you."

Hand on her own gun the officer gave the interior of the Taurus a quick once over before slipping in the seat Josie had vacated. She could be heard speaking firmly to the man who moved his head once though obviously not in any kind of answer. The officer deftly secured the gun and then his wallet before climbing back out and nodding to the EMTs. One of them hurried over while the other kept checking the Access-A-Ride driver.

Having edged around the cars herself Carmen patted Josie's arm briefly. Her friend gave her a shaky smile. They had missed the officer reaching for her radio but looked over when they heard her read from the wallet open in her hand.

"… name is Agent Peter Burke. Repeat: Agent Peter Burke, Federal Bureau of Investigation."

Carmen and Josie shared a stunned look then had to step further away as a second ambulance and two more police cars arrived. The crash side was soon properly secured and the first ambulance left with the Access-A-Ride driver. Josie glanced uneasily at her watch as a tow truck pulled up several minutes later.

"How long do you think until they get to take our statements?"

Carmen looked at her own watch and winced. It felt kind of crabby to think like this, especially since the FBI agent was just being loaded on a stretcher and transferred into the second ambulance, but they did have had an appointment they were now thoroughly late for. She glanced to the side where the first officer was circling through the crowd and questioning witnesses.

"Let's hope not that long. Anyway," she added philosophically, "at least we have a _really_ good explanation for not showing on time."

"Yeah, unfortunately," Josie agreed. "I do wonder why he ran the light though. Think we'll ever find out?"

Carmen just shrugged to that. They both knew it was hardly likely.


	13. Empire City

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Empire City

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"Ah, Diana, did everything go all right with your job inter...view... Uh, Diana?"

"You. Owe. Me. Boss. You _SO_ owe me."

"I do?"

"You so, so do."

Later, after Peter had had a good look at the outfit the cigar girls at the Cotton Club were required to wear, he tended to agree.


	14. Shoot the Moon

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Shoot the Moon

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Claws clicking quietly on the wood Satchmo climbed the stairs. Turning on the landing he gently nosed the bedroom door open then stood for a moment before padding over to the bed. Lifting up his nose he snuffled softly at the blanket covered lump of His Peter. Just a little father than he could stretch he made out the tousled head of His Elizabeth, resting on His Peter's shoulder from the other side.

The good, _right_ smell of home was strong here. The soft, even breathing of his family the only sound in the quiet house.

Returning to the door Satchmo nosed the bags and suitcases sitting against the wall. He was satisfied to find them empty. Flopping down on the floor he curled up, closing his eyes.

Everything was right again in his world.


	15. The Original

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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The Original

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_"I'm gonna need about 500 pounds of marble"_ Neal Caffrey, White Collar 4.15 – The Original

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As it turned out getting – as in purchasing – about 500 pounds of marble was easy. Getting it in any other sense of the word … definitely more complicated.

First, it required a serious talk with an amused June concerning the stability of the floors and ceilings of her old mansion. Followed by an on-site meeting with an architectural engineer specialized in these matters and the placating of Mozzie, who was offended because his expertise had not been deemed enough to determined if the floor construction would be able to handle 500 pounds and change concentrated on a bit less than nine square feet.

Following that a permit to station a truck crane on a public street for about an hour (including blocking parking space on said public street in advance) had to be acquired. Not to forget careful scheduling to bring permit, truck crane and the truck delivering the marble block together in the same place at the same time.

Having accomplished that the crane had to be set up and first a couple of heavy steel plates lifted over the balustrade – mindful of the statues there – and laid out in a path to distribute the weight of the marble (since the outside part of the upper floor actually couldn't take as much weight as the inside part). After that the marble block was prepared, lifted up and with nerve-racking precision balanced out on no less than four heavy-duty wooden boards with wheels.

Five sturdy men then moved the marble block first inside and at last carefully down on the worksheet spread out in Neal's small apartment. Then the steel plates had to be deconstructed, the men tipped, the truck sent away, the truck crane readied for driving and also seen off.

And _THAT_ was when Peter finally caught on that they would have to re-enact a good part of it to get the finished sculpture back out.

"Well," said June, patting his arm fondly (and winking secretly at Neal), "look at it this way: He sure knows how to make life interesting."


	16. In the Wind

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin, USA Network et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: * = quote from 4.16 – In the Wind

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In the Wind

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_Sometimes you have to redraw the lines to stay within them.*_

There _IS_ a certain irony in it, Reese will admit that. As Peter pointed out correctly he has warned him for years about what working with Caffrey might do to him. Has watched for years with concern as the duo toed the line, circled the rules, stretched the boundaries. He has always feared what length Peter, unleashed from the restrains of the law, might go to in the name of justice. Sending him after Pratt like he did might open a box that can not be closed again. But Reese is very angry. And very hurt.

_They forced me out.*_

Thirty years. Thirty years he has given the Bureau and they booted him out just like that. Only they didn't even have the guts to call it by its proper name. Early retirement. What a joke. But he had no choice, doing the right thing is all nice and well but you start thinking carefully once it may not only be about getting butter on your bread but the bread itself. So he gave in, hating himself for doing it. And vowing to get even.

_I've made a few friends.*_

Yes, he made friends. In thirty years it has also been impossible … not to get to know some dirty little secrets. So he called in favors, used the leverage he had. The information he got was promising but there was really nothing he could do with it on his own. He needed someone official to take up the hunt and who better than the most tenacious agent he has ever know? Especially since he had already personal interest in it.

_Do whatever you have to do.*_

He ignores the uneasy feeling deep in the pit of his stomach after his meeting with Peter. Refuses to acknowledge that he sent the younger man after Pratt much like one would send a heat seeking missile. Knowing it won't give up. Won't give in. Sent him to redraw the lines he has always warned him not to cross. But Reese is still very hurt. And very angry.

_You are the law, Peter.*_

Then his friend with the NSA calls and informs him Pratt is dead. Shot by Peter.

And for a moment all he can think is _No, no, he can not have thought I meant..._


End file.
